


Touched

by ceywoozle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Time, M/M, i don't think there is a point, i'm not sure what the point of this is, john wobbles, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random Tumblr ficlet. After Sherlock and John's first time, John's still a bit unsure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touched

The first time John and Sherlock make love, they are both shaking. Hands quivering over bared skin, muscles tense and wound tightly and trying and failing to come apart. They rub against each other fretfully, desperate and more than a little out of control.

When they finish, it is individually and a surprise and something to be thankful for, and perhaps, a little bit feared. They lay in bed, breathing each others air, not quite kissing on the pillow they unintentionally share.

John falls asleep first, blinking a half a dozen times until he’s not.

Sherlock lies there and watches him, counting his own heartbeats and comparing them to the flutter of John’s carotid pulse.

He falls asleep second, and wakes up alone.

John, in the sitting room, is still shaking.

When Sherlock emerges from the bedroom, warm from sleep, his black hair flattened and askew from his pillow and John’s fingers, John gets up from his chair as though the worn cushion is suddenly spring-loaded. Sherlock’s view of his back is fleeting, but it is long enough to see how tense John’s shoulders are, and when John walks to the kitchen, bidding him good morning, John’s stiff smile is for the floor and his eyes stare straight ahead.

He makes tea, the kettle vibrating beneath the pressure of the tap filling it, the mugs scraping on the counter, the sugar spoon clinking unsteadily on the porcelain edge of the cup. So much noise all at once, none of it necessary.

When Sherlock moves behind him, it only gets louder.

"John."

"Hm?" Even that small sound breaks as it emerges.

John is staring at the mugs, concentrating fiercely on the string of the tea bag that has somehow gotten hopelessly tangled around his shaking fingers.

"Alright?"

"Hm."

Sherlock reaches out, a hand coming to rest on John’s arm, and the flinch that John gives is enough to move his entire body and the shock that blooms on his lined face is devastatingly eloquent.

Three quick steps backwards and Sherlock knocks into the table, a clumsy movement that he hates himself for. John is already turning, already apologising.

_"Don’t. Wait."_

"It was a mistake," Sherlock blurts.

"Shut up, you wanker," John says on an unsteady huff of laughter.

Sherlock stiffens. He can already feel the outrage on his face, swiftly rising to mask the hurt, but John is coming towards him, steps deliberate, and he stops half a pace away.

"Just. Slowly. Yeah? I’m just…not used to…whatever."

Sherlock narrows his eyes at him.  _"Whatever?"_

John flushes, looks down. He murmurs something incomprehensible.

"What?" Sherlock demands, ears straining, trying to catch this most important, most infuriating of words.

John clears his throat.  _"Touching,"_ he says, and it comes out like something dirty and Sherlock just stares at him.

"I’m not used to…you know…touching. And things. Just. Sorry. I’ll get better."

Sherlock doesn’t know how to take this. “How?” he asks, thinking of last night, of all the touching they did then, but he thinks he understands. Maybe. Mostly he wonders what it means for future scrabblings in the dark. He wonders how long he’ll have to wait before John will be okay to be touched again. “How will you get better?”

John grimaces but for the first time that morning he looks straight up into Sherlock’s face. His face is tinged red but his lips are in a determined line, his jaw squared.

"You’re a scientist," he says. "What would you do?"

Sherlock frowns. Wonders if this is a trick question. “Gradual exposure,” he says. “System of rewards—” he sees the suggestion of a smile on John’s face and stops, eyes narrowing in surprise.

"Well," John says, and he is still shaking, his teeth almost chattering, but the smile he sends upwards is real, even though it is uncertain. "Best get started then."


End file.
